We All Have An Expiration Date

Eggs, milk, meat and cheese all have an expiration date. So do we. I sit and watch my best friend sleep, knowing her time here is short. She has stage four cancer, and it is winning this round, though there has been a massive fight. Cancer is evil, and though some will say it can be handled as a chronic condition, they are the lucky ones. My friend is not -- her cancer will over take her soon and send her home. Watching a robust woman suffer from cancer is painful. Too painful at times.

After moving into a new house five years ago, this special friend decided one day to weed one of the flower gardens with me, as it was bothering her that people would drive past my house and see weeds. She would not have such a thing. So with gloves, hats and sun screen in tow, she showed up and said "this is your house-warming gift, a couple hours of girl time making the garden presentable again." And we did. After four or five hours of weed pulling, the garden was beautiful, but the two of us were a mess: dirty, sweaty, stinky and very thirsty. She was correct -- the garden looked better and the following spring, summer and fall, it blossomed with gorgeous bulbs and perennials constantly showing their beauty. The garden was named after my friend, and each time I refer to it, I call it by her name, V's Garden. A sign needs to be placed there, reminding us each time we view the beauty of the garden, it was put in order by V, who will continue to look after it forever.

Photo attribution: somewhatfortyplus